


A Slippery Slope

by LadyKateRussell



Category: The 100 (TV), clexa - Fandom
Genre: Clexa Week 2018, Day 1, F/F, PyeongChang, Skier Lexa, Snowboarder Clarke, Ugly meet, Winter Olympics, more or a re-meet than a first meet, my first ever waffling... I mean fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 06:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13805259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKateRussell/pseuds/LadyKateRussell
Summary: Clarke gets blown over in the high winds on the opening day of Pyeongchang and into the lap of a French Olympic skier.This is awkward.OrThe Pyeongchang Winter Olympic fic.All mistakes are my own - it turns out it’s pretty hard to write a fic on a mobile phone!Find me on Tumblr under the same name.





	A Slippery Slope

“Clar-ke?!”

_What?! their isn’t a snowballs chance in hell..._

Only one person says her name that way... well Clarke only knows of one person who says her name that way.

Clarke kicks her legs out as she tries to find her footing on the wind lashed mountain top. She tries to steady her feet on the snow which may as well be hard packed ice due to the ridiculous winds currently assaulting the opening day of the Winter Olympics. She only manages to lift herself a few inches off the girls lap before crashing back down on her with a ‘umph’.

_OMG... get up you idiot! You need to style this out and you need to style this out fast!_

Clarke starts to reposition herself on the other girls lap, effectively grinding her ass into her as she again tried to use her uncooperative feet to move herself around. Lexa squirms below her and Clarke hears a little huffy sigh leave her lips. All Clarke knows is that she needed to use her hands to push herself up and can’t in her current  'sat in lexa lap' position. The wind is still lashing into her and even thought she is now sat in the other girls lap, they are still skidding inch by inch across the snow covered mountain with every particularly violent gust of wind.

That’s how Clarke found herself in this position to begin with, it wasn’t clumsiness, it was 100% to do with the current gale force winds that literally threw her across the path, gloves lost to the wind, into Lexa with a thud!

_Okey okey, maybe 90%... I wasn’t actually looking where I was going. Perhaps walking backwards for a brief moment and waving at Raven who’s already 20 meters down the slope._

Clarke finally manages to swivel round and can now see the face of the girl she bowled over when she lost her footing. Her green eyes shine in contrast to her blue, red and white beanie. She has white rimmed Bollé goggles with gold accents and reflective blue and orange lens on her forehead. Black tap is stuck to the end of her nose and under each eye, making it look like a mask. The tape, which Clarke knows as anti frostbite tape (but she had only ever seen it in white), makes her eyes look like emeralds in the bleak white surroundings.

_Lexa... well shit! This is an awkward way to run into a drunken one night stand from 8 months ago._

“Bonjur Clarke” Lexa says with a smirk on her lips. Her hands reached up to Clarke’s waist to help steady the girl on top of her. Clarke can feel the blush rising inside of her. She’s only now grateful for the wind that has given her pink windburned cheeks, disguising her rising blush.

_Style it out Griffin. That’s an order._

“Oh hey, I’m so sorry for wind-ing up in you lap... you know, wind-ing as in the windy weather not winding...”

_What are you doing? You’re not funny. SHUT UP! Immediately!_

Clarke lets out a little sigh which is painfully noticeable due to the cloud of misty condensation that hangs between them for the briefest of moments. Their faces are now only inches away from one another’s.

“I guess it’s more of an English joke... it’s funny if you speak English, because this wind is cra-hay-zy.” Clarke tries to clarify quickly.

“I speak English Clarke”. Lexa says with a slight lift to her right eyebrow, her smirk all but fading away.

 _Wow, you’re telling bad puns, rambling and now you have just insulted her - fuck I’m smooth. And also wow, her eyes. I forgot how intense her eyes_...  
**FOCUS!**

“I only mean, as in your first language. But, my jokes are terrible even if I could tell you one in your native tongue...”

Clarke glances down to Lexa’s blue jacket with the French flags stitched into the left breast, more to gather her thoughts than anything else. She had forgotten the intensity she felt when Lexa looked at her and had needed to look away.

“French. Allez le bleu... ummm”  
A beat later, Clarke adds, “It’s Lexa, right?”

_Why am I pretending I don’t know who she is?_

“Mmmmhmmm” Lexa reply’s, low slow and drawn out.

_She knows I know exactly who she is... I screamed, chanted and reverentially cantillated her name for the entirety of a sordid night and now I pretend to not know her name?! what a stupid thing to do. Why am I being coy? Argh!_

Lexa’s grip around Clarke’s waist tightens and she gives a little nudge upwards, indicating she will help Clarke stand. Probably a good thing seeing they are surrounded by fellow Olympians and judges.

_It’s the first day Clarke, don’t make a scene - at least not on the first day for goodness sake._

Just as Lexa starts pushing Clarke up, the snow under her gives way with a crunch. The crunch that snow makes when it has a thin ice top and soft powder below. Without realizing, they had both been blown off the walking path, away from the hard packed snow, to the untouched snow at the side of the mountain by the relentless gusts of wind.

As Lexa ass sinks into the snow, she loses her grip on Clarke. Clarke was almost upright, however, as Lexa released Clarke’s waist she grabs Clarke’s right hand causing Clarke to spin (pirouette? If only she could be so graceful) slightly on the spot. Lexa’s legs kick up as she sinks further into the snow. At precisely this moment, another gust of wind slams into the side of Clarke. She can vaguely hear someone off in the distance behind her shouting something as she notices a ski pole go rolling past her and Lexa, 10 meters to her right. Clarke’s leg catches one of Lexa’s that is hovering at calf height. Trying desperately to avoid stamping the girl below her in her rock hard ski boots, Clarke tries to swing her leg over Lexa’s, only for Clarke’s other leg to whip out from under her. Hard packed snow is now firmly glued to the underside of her ski boots making them as slippery as ice skates. Clarke starts fall again, only this time she can see who she is falling on and it’s happening in slow motion. Lexa had tried to move her leg out of the way for Clarke by kicking her right leg further out. Clarke now found herself between Lexa’s legs falling. Her knees hit the snow, landing just below Lexa’s bum. She reached her hands out but didn’t have time to reach out above Lexa’s shoulders to brace her impact on the snow. Instead Clarke's hands landed squarely on each of Lexa’s breasts.

She froze.

With Lexa’s bum sunk into the snow and Clarke between her legs and with Clarkes weight pushing on Lexa’s upper torso, Lexa automatically swung her legs around Clarke’s waist to stop herself from sliding backwards down the slope behind her.

“Oh”

Clarke took stock of the situation and couldn’t help but compare their current position with one they has similarly shared 8 months prior. Substantially more alcohol, less clothes and embarrassment was involve back then.

Clarke looks down at her hands that hold each of Lexa’s firm breasts. A somewhat shy “sorry” slipped out of her lips as she moves them to Lexa’s shoulders. She’s not sure Lexa even heard her.

_Abort! Retreat! Retreat!_

“I like this” Lexa says in an entirely too casual tone for the current situation. Lexa lifts her left hand and tugs on the bright yellow and green beanie with Australia scrawled across it on Clarke’s head, before her hand falls to the tips of one of the twin plats Clarke has poking out from under her beanie on either side. “And these, very cute.”

Clarke’s feels her blush racing back to her cheeks. Her insides twist and flutter. It’s something to do with the way Lexa looks at her... it’s just... it just is.

“Ha, you know ‘Aussie Aussie Aussie’” Clarke sing songs to Lexa. It’s easier to comment on the beanie then the compliment when Clarke is betwixt Lexa’s legs.

“Oui, oui, oui” Lexa returns. Clarke can’t help but smile a silly toothy grin at the French reply of ‘yes’ three times.

So Lexa almost knows the Australian anthem... or the shortened down version that’s applicable to all Aussie sport. Sport being the nations pride, joy and passion, so really it’s the same thing as a national anthem.

“It’s actually ‘oi, oi, oi’, you’d know that if English was your first language” Clarke says dripping with sarcasm.  
“but close enough”

“Humph” Lexa hums in good humour, her eyes sparkling “we are close enough, that is certainly true...” Lexa states as she winks at Clarke and squeezes her legs ever so slightly tighter around Clark’s hips to drive home the point.

They both look into each other’s eyes and Clarke can feel a jolt stretching through her entire body. A warmth, regardless of the -20 temperature, not to mention the additional windchill factor.

“If you didn’t already have black eyes, I’d give you one!” Clarke say, schooling Lexa with a fake tone of annoyance.

“Ha, you crash into me, knock me down and now you want to beat me up and turn my lights off?” Lexa says in a commanding tone with an exaggerated French accent.

Lexa’s incorrect use of the phrase ‘knock me out’, with the exaggerated accent takes all the menacing out of her words which only makes Clarke’s smile widen. She knows Lexa it on purpose because of Clarke’s earlier comment regarding her English.

“And that” Clarke nods towards Lexa, indicating to the black frostbite tape on her face “is kinda scary”.

“Unfortunately these conditions require it, less my nose drops off” Lexa says, raising both eyebrows for effect before almost going cross eyed as she looks at the tape on her nose.

“I believe these are the coldest Olympics for 30 years..” Lexa trails off, realizing how ridiculous it is to have this conversation (a conversation about the weather) while they are still literally wrapped up in each other.

They both let out a small laugh at the same time, realising the absurdity of the situation.

Clarke looks down at Lexa, who has a few soft curls poking out from under her hat, making her look much softer then the black tape allows at first glance. Her berry red lips are full and slightly parted. A dusting of faint freckles sit on her cheeks under where the goggles normally sit. Clarke’s eyes travel back up to Lexa’s eye, to see she is taking Clarke in, in just as much detail. Her eyes flick back down to Lexa’s lips just as the tip of her tongue dart out to wet her lips and Clarke can’t help but to mirror her actions.

In the distance behind them, carried on the gusts of wind Clarke hears someone shouting in their direction. French... someone is screaming at the two of them in French - Clarke can’t hear everything but should could make out something along the lines of ‘what the hell are you doing on the ground!?’. Clarkes French is school girl level. So she knows she said something about the ground or the sun... but seeing there is no sun right now, she will go with ground.

Lexa snaps her eyes away from Clarke’s lips and looks over Clarke’s shoulder, sighs and says “Merde, that’s one of my entraîneurs... coaches, this doesn’t look good”.

Clarke bows her head and looks down between them, till the blue of Lexa’s salopettes meets the dark green of Clarke’s waist.

“I’m not sure... “  
Clarke looks back up and finds Lexa’s eyes “it looks pretty good from my vantage”.

Clarke, what are you doing? From weather to flirting? Don’t embarrass yourself further. You may have had the most amazing one night stand of your life but that doesn’t mean she did or she wants to do it or anything again... Please stop and as gracefully as possible extract yourself from this situation.

“I seem to recall you enjoying this vantage... multiple times”. Lexa states, matter-of-factly.

Oh!

“Being on top is great. You should try it some time.” Clarke all but husks as she leans a little closer. Efforts to extract themselves from one another abandoned at this point.

The seconds tick by. Clarke can smell the slightest bit of Lexa’s perfume due to their proximity. Her stomach twists, sending little voltage shocks off in all directions of her body with anticipation.

Lexa sets her jaw and Clarke can see it start the work back and forth as she clench.  
“I plan to be on top in the next few days.” Lexa replies in a tone slightly more clipped then before.

“Slightly presumptuous, even if you are French. Don’t you think?” Clarke continues to look into her eyes, I slight smirk playing on her lips.

“I mean to be on top of the podium Clarke. I’m here to win gold, nothing less”.

And as quickly as it started, all the good natured humour is gone from Lexa’s features. It’s like she just remembered where she is after a temporal laps in judgment.

Ouch, whiplash!

Clarke glances over her shoulder to see another woman, dressed in an identical outfit to Lexa’s, marching towards them. Further behind her Clarke can make out the coach. A huge guy with long dark beard, arms crossed over his chest looking very unimpressed. He stands near the officials tents that violently flapping in the wind, piles or skis are being knocked over, flags slapping in the wind. No one else is looking at them, everyone is too concerned with fastening their equipment down or finding a windbreak to escape its cutting chill. She glances back down at Lexa who has her eyes train on the approaching woman. Clarke can see with each passing moment Lexa’s eyes darken with resolve.

Clarke isn’t shy or ‘backwards in coming forwards’, it’s just Lexa makes her nervous... from the first moment she met Lexa in New Zealand. They first met (met? More like ogled each other) in a crowded gondola heading up the slope. They bumped into each other again a few days later when their tables at lunch were next to each other. Clarke noticed then that Lexa spoke exclusively in French with her companions at her table for the duration of the meal, throwing the odd glance to Clarke. When they did finally talk, it was in a bar in the village during ‘après-ski’ which literally translates to ‘after ski’. In practice it means get really really drunk. It was Clarke’s last night in New Zealand before flying back to the US for work. Lexa had approached her and handed her a shot and informing her that “New Zealand doesn’t know après-ski”. As she is French, the birth place of après-ski, she was willing to provide (she arched her eyebrow at this point, waiting for Clarke’s name) Clarke with an appropriate demonstration... a ‘guide touristique’ on the house. Much of the conversation after that is a delightful blur, however, Clarke recalls Lexa mentioning she was in New Zealand training during the drunken conversation prior to “should we go to yours or mine?”

Clarke never even considered for a split second that Lexa is a professional/Olympic skier - Of course, many European skiers go to New Zealand during Europes summer months to train. Clarke also never considered that she would see her again. That last thought had been surprising to her as she had felt somewhat disappoint at the idea as she boarded her Air New Zealand flight back to the US. She had thought for a brief moment on the long haul flight, ‘why didn’t I ask for her number? Or even her last name...’ But as soon as life, exams, and work kicked back in, she only ever gave it anotther thought on lonely overworked Saturday nights when she craved release.

“Lexa! Qu'est-ce que tu fais?” The woman shouts, now much closer then before.

Lexa glances back at Clarke and for a moment Clarke swears her eyes soften to something unreadable but they are back to hard and focused before Clarke can question it further.

Lexa’s legs have dropped from around Clarkes wrist and Clarkes hands are now on the snow above Lexa’s shoulders. Her fingers feel like rusted steal, she can’t move them because of the cold.

“Shit” Clarke mumbles as she pushes herself up. Lexa once again supports her and finally Clarke is standing again. She reaches down to Lexa to give her a hand, which she eyes suspiciously. Lexa is wearing white ski gloves and finally reaches up to Clarke’s, taking her forearm in her gloved hand. Clarke yanks Lexa up. Lexa grimaces briefly and rotates her shoulder.

Clarke is watching her movements as she brings both her hands to her face, curls her fingers in front of her mouth and huffs out in an attempted to warm them.

“Did I hurt you?” Clarke ask with concern as she watches Lexa’s left hand move to her shoulder.  
Without waiting for an answer, she removes her fingers from the little puffs of steam escaping her mouth to Lexa’s shoulder. She gives it a few careful squeezes. She can feel a lump on her clavicle and Clarke suspects that Lexa has broken it it in the past and it still gives her pain. Also, she thinks sheepishly, it must hurts when people knock her over in the freezing cold. Clarke glances over to Lexa quickly to make sure she isn’t hurting her further.

“When did you break it?” Clarke inquires in a low but professional tone. Lexa doesn’t answer but still continues to study Clarke. “I’m a doctor... when I’m not competing at the Olympics... or walking backwards into French girls - which again, I am really sorry about”.

Lexa’s eyes soften and she flashes Clarke a small smile that could easily be missed has they not been standing so close to each other.

“Ne la touche pas!" Clarke looks over and the girl that had been marching to them earlier is now next to Clarke, shouting, in French.

What?

Clarkes blank face must show so the girl starts again in English “Get your hands off her!”

“I was just trying to help. It was an accident and I am” Clarke’s doesn’t even get to finish, the other girls is shouting over her.

“You have helped more than enough, now get off her!” Her tone is harsh and accusatory.

Ok so this one lives up to the French reputation - rude!

Clarke can’t see much of the other woman, her ski goggles are on, covering half of her face and she has a white fleece pulled up covering her chin and mouth.

Clarke snaps her hands away from Lexa and the other girl looks towards Lexa “Ça va?” She says, without any trace of her previous annoyance, like she had never been shouting.

“I’m fine thanks Anya, it was.. it’s fine. Come on, we should go or we’ll be late to meet the others for track inspection. Gustus is already starting to stress...”

Lexa turns with the other girl to start walking off. Lexa takes two steps before stopping to turn around to where Clarke is still stood. Lexa pulls off her right glove using her teeth at the tip of the fingers and then uses the free hand to take off her left ski glove. Lexa glances up at Clarke again quickly, not noticing the frustrated huff from the girl next to her. Lexa busies herself with removing the second pair of black thermal gloves she has under her white leather ski gloves. Without a word she looks up at Clarke and offers them to her. The questioning look on Clarke’s face makes lexa raise her eyebrows and nod an approving yes. Clarke reaches out and carefully takes the gloves like they are something precious and fragile. Before Clarke has a moment to say thank you, Lexa is briskly walking off, back in the direction the other girl, Anya, came marching from.

As they walk off Clarke can hear Anya talking to Lexa. She tries to listen to want is being said, however, she can’t understand as they are talking in French. Just as she is about to start walking back towards the gondola, the other direction to Lexa and Anya who appear to be walking to the Olympic officials tents, she hears “New Zeal...” before another gust of wind races across the mountain taking Anya’s words with it.

At that moment, Lexa glances quickly over her shoulder to find Clarke still stood in the same place looking back at her.

All Clarke knows is that the PyeongChang Winter Olympic Games just got a lot more interesting...


End file.
